


Tired

by Man_Who_Sold_The_World



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A short fic wherein hardly anyone is actually mentioned by name, F/M, Gen, and it takes a village to pull ben solo out of the hole he dug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Man_Who_Sold_The_World/pseuds/Man_Who_Sold_The_World
Summary: Ben Organa-Solo is tired, torn, and too broken to believe.





	Tired

Rey’s bone-tired when she let’s it happen. Neither reach out, not really, but regardless of Snoke’s death, it seems that the bond still ebs and flows between them, always connecting one another. She spots him moments before he does her. He’s shirtless again, but he’s removing something else too–a bandage. She forces herself to remain awake as she waits to see what’s beneath it.

He winces when he hears her gasp.

When Rey was thirteen, a shard of ages old duristeel fell from the heights of an old ship, tearing down her leg on its dissent. She couldn’t salvage for a week after, and even worse than that, she had to trade her remaining stores of portions for just enough bacta to stave off the ugly infection that had begun. She remembers the sharp ache in her leg then, the wicked black lines that seemed to crawl up her leg before the bacta kicked in, the rotting smell of it.

This was somehow worse.

“Ben-”

“Don’t.” He begs, lip quivering as he stares dead at her. “That name died with our alliance.”

“Don’t they have bacta or treatments or-”

“Please…” he looks her over once before letting his eyes fall. “Don’t pretend to care.”

She can’t even feel, let alone see, him after that point.

–

The cuffs they’ve locked around him in no way are actually strong enough to restrain him, but appearances are everything these days. The Traitor sits across from him, glaring at him as the soft-faced mechanic remains asleep on his shoulder.

“How’s Rey?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Don’t say her name.” He mutters tiredly. “Just–don’t say anything.”

“It must have been so easy for you…” the knight says softly, a surprising lack of malice in his tone.

“What?”

“Leaving it all…you hate me, it’s good motivation.”

“I don’t.” That’s grabs his attention, and The Knight’s eyes bore into The Traitor. “You don’t know what it’s like to have someone in your head, someone controlling everything you do, every thought you have.”

“You’d be surprised.” He mutters, and _Finn_ doesn’t glare, not anymore, just stares.

“It wasn’t easy.”

“Then how could-did you do it?” He asks, truly desperate to an answer.

“You have to be able to tell the difference between orders you follow because you believe, and orders you follow because you have no choice…after that, it’s impossible to live with yourself knowing you did things you didn’t believe in just because you were scared.”

“You’d be surprised…” The Knight whispers coarsely.

“You don’t look alive to me.” Finn replies in much the same tone. He glances down to the mechanic on his shoulder and looks back to the man sitting opposite him.

“Yet here I am…sitting across from a traitor.” His jab is half-hearted.

“I’m not a traitor, I was just never loyal to _them_.” He doesn’t take the bait, not really. “Rey’s fine.” He whispers after a moment. “Better now.”

–

The Knight is annoyed, but not surprised, when he sees who they’ve sent in the question him.

“ _The best pilot in the resistance…_ ” he mutters mockingly.

“General.” Poe replies smugly, standing over him.

“I’ve already said what’s useful…either kill me or release me, but no more questions.” He insists. He _hates_ the way the cuffs dig into his wrists, _hates_ that he’s letting them, _hates_ that he can no longer feel the sharp ache of his bowcaster wound.

“I’m not here to question you.” The ~~Pilot~~ General mutters roughly.

“If you’re going to beat me, then do it” The Knight insists through gritted teeth.

“We don’t torture our prisoners here.” The General smiles darkly before looking off. The Knight is grateful for the silence until it’s broken. “I just don’t get it.” He admits, voice rough. “Leia was the best damn leader in the galaxy, the best person I ever met, and-and you just, what? Leave? Go off and join the enemy because you hated your parents?”

The Knight stares down at his hands, memories of his mother forcing themselves to the surface of his thoughts. “I didn’t hate them.” He mumbles.

“She spent her entire life losing people, spent her entire life working so that the galaxy could be at peace-”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” The Knight nearly shouts, pulling at his cuffs violently. “Do you think I didn’t know her because of what I did? She might have been your _General_ , their _Princess_ , but she was _my mother,_ and there is no amount of explaining you can do to an eight year old that makes them understand why _the galaxy_ is more important than them.”

“Oh, so that’s your excuse? Your parents were pre-occupied with saving the galaxy, so you go off and join Snoke-”

“Shut up!” His fists pound into the table as he stands, towering over The General. “You–you don’t know what it’s like to have someone in your head-”

“You’d be surprised.” He pauses, collecting himself as he glares at the man above him. “Finn does, and he still made the choice to do what was right.” He dismisses him quickly, still so full of disdain.

“I know.” He replies softly, and an almost calm silence falls between them as The General looks down to him as he sits once more. “There is a void in the galaxy, a hole torn that can never be fixed, never be repaired. You may feel her loss, but I feel that void. Call me whatever you want, label my crimes as you see fit, but never say that I hated them.”

“Why did you do it?” The General asks, voice calm as he stands over The Knight. There is no pity, but some kind of understanding seems to stretch between the two.

“Everyone asks that, but no one would accept the answer.” He mutters gruffly.

“Try me.” The General offers.

“I don’t know.” The Knight replies honestly.

–

The Knight is done with their questions, with their jabs. Done looking at _The Traitor_ and seeing what could have become of him if he had just been strong enough to leave sooner. Done looking at _The Pilot_ and seeing what more of his mother he could have known if he had just been strong enough to come home. Done looking at _The Scavenger_ and seeing what compassion she could have had for him if he had been strong enough to become the person she had seen.

He’s always been strong enough to escape their grasp. He leaves his guards unconscious, his cuffs broken, and his saber at his side. He has no intentions of killing anyone that night, but his saber is the only thing he can trust. He hates The Falcon, hates what it represents. The missing years of his life, of his childhood. He hates it with all of his heart, but it’s still the ship he knows best here, and the one he can disappear with.

He’s sitting in the cockpit, contemplating what to do with himself, considering flying the piece of junk into a sun, when he hears her step. He turns immediately, looking to the mechanic from before and sighs.

“What are you doing?” She asks, and though her voice holds no malice, her hand holds a taser.

“You don’t want to do this.” He warns tiredly.

“That’s not an answer, _what are you doing?_ ” She demands the truth of him.

“Leaving.” He answers simply and honestly.

“You can’t.”

“I’ve given all I know, the only use I have left is for show trials.” He reasons, and doesn’t find it within himself to stand when she nears.

“No I mean–” she pauses. “You can’t leave, not now, not when-” she takes another step closer. “There are people here who, for some reason, still care about you. People who are my friends, and so while I have no idea why they would care for someone as _despicable_ as you, I can’t let you leave.” He stares at her, more confused now then he’s ever been.

“What’s your name?” He asks.

“Rose, what’s yours?” She answers, and despite her words previous, there’s an odd kind of comfort in them.

“Haven’t they already told you?” He replies.

“What’s your name?” She asks again, staring down at him. “They call you Ben Solo…. _Kylo Ren_ , but what is your name?”

Alderaanian naming standards for royalty state that traditionally the matriarch’s name is passed from one generation to the next, and though Alderaan is long gone, its rich history still lives on.

“Organa.” He answers honestly.

“Okay Organa…you understand that I can’t let you leave, right?” She asks, taser buzzing with electricity.

“This ship is all I have left of… _my family_.” he mutters.

“You know that’s not true.” She insists, and he’s on the verge of tears when he properly looks to her.

“Where do I go?” He asks sincerly.

“I think bed is probably a good start…” she answers, turning off her taser as he stands slowly, hunching awkwardly as he tries not to loom over her. “They’ll help you make that decision when you can see the sun again.”


End file.
